Stoned
by Gnomeish
Summary: Oneshot out of a story I made up last night but didn't write down so forgot. No substance abuse despite the title.


I think I'll be posting some okayish but no plot bits soon. They're okay, and then I don't feel like such a berk for sitting on them, even if they aren't done.

I don't own any of this at all. Yay.

xxxImcharginmylazerxxx

His friends sat around him at the table, quills scribbling, the common room filled with idle chatter.

He wished they'd be quiet. Just be quiet and go... go... _go **away**_!

Harry put his head in his hands and rubbed his hot, burning scar and vaguely he heard being asked a question and himself answering but then the noise and the voices came back and he rubbed harder and...

He couldn't take it anymore. With a quiet snarl he threw down his quill and headed for the doorway, ignoring his friends startled protests as he wrenched it open and slammed it shut.

_... clutching at his hair... screaming... please... no... huddled in a corner... no no no more I don't want to see... heels of his hands pressing into his eyeballs, running blindly down the corridors.. crucio ... crucio... CRUCIO!_

Harry screamed and fell onto the floor writhing. Huddled into himself, he twitched and bit his tongue to keep from screaming, scuttling away until he was pressed against the wall, still lying on the ground, biting his tongue and rocking back and forth .

They wouldn't understand, they wouldn't. Not even Dumbledore, fucking Dumbledore. For all the pies he has his fingers in, he doesn't even truly know what's inside them. Voldemort knows, Harry knows that. The Deatheaters, tortured and torturers.. they know... the victims... they know as well.

But Harry, Harry knows better than them all. Because he is them. All of them and none of them. At the same time and individually.

_The curse cast on him, pain, screaming, twitching feebly... casting the rush of power... watching ... feeling the power... desire... interest... dark glee... then it stops there no more power no more pain but laughter and everyone's laughing and he laughs at himself as he cowers on the floor..._

And then he's someone else and it starts all over again.

The pain's stopped now but he grabs hair and pulls and pulls and pulls and then there's blood dripping down his face and clumps of hair in his hands and he's crying but he didn't think he was. His cheek is on the cold stone and he feels that, pressing his body against it, rips apart his shirt and lays bare chested god knows where in Hogwarts in the middle of the night and just **_feels_**... feels the cold the stone it's gray and the cracks and holes and he's _on the stone, smells the stone, tastes the stone **is** the stone_ because the stone doesn't feel_ it just is _and he wants to be the stone so he presses his face closer but as hard as he tries he can't become it, can't get away so he cries again and then just lies there feeling the cold because if he focuses on the cold _he can still pretend he's the stone and then the stone is Harry Potter pressing up against him and he's not Harry Potter pressing up against the Stone because he's Stone and Harry is the Stone but isn't and the Stone is Harry but isn't _and finally Harry doesn't know who or what he is anymore all he knows is that the voices and the hurting is gone, locked away for some other time but not now. Because now _he's Stone he's Boy he's Harry he's cold _and he just lies there because he can.

He's the stone-harry-potter-who-lived and he just lies there until sun starts to peak through the window and the stone warms and he blinks, lifting his head from the stone. It's just stone now, and he's Harry Potter. _He's not stone, He's a boy_. The Stone is just stone and the memories press against the locked door but thankfully they stay inside. So Harry the not-stone-boy sits up until he's facing the window and looks at his reflection, The reflection of the not-stone-boy with blood down his face and hair missing from the top of his head so his scar sticks out more looks back at him and he blinks and he's alive again.

He fumbles with his clothes and there.. .in the pocket.. he pulls out his wand and just points it at himself for a moment, staring, before casting a scourgify and a hair growing charm on himself and then stands and continues to look out the window up at the rising sun.

He sighs and he knows he has just enough time to make it to breakfast after casting a cleaning charm on himself and repairs his shirt, but before pulling it on he traces his stomach and for a moment imagines it as nothing more than dirty, dull granite, which makes him smile.

And when he gets down to breakfast and his friends swarm around him like a bunch of angry bees, he tells them he slept in the room of requirement and they settle down at their table to eat.

For just a moment the bowls of cereal and platters of bacon melt away into bowls of honey which everyone in the hall laps up with their tongues, buzzing to each other as Dumbledore sits at the head table with a crown on his head being spoonfed honey by teachers and students alike and they all buzz and flitter and flit until Ron elbows him and the illusion melts away, leaving him staring at his toast and eggs, which he reluctantly shovels into his mouth because that's what they want of him.

But secretly under the table Harry sticks his finger under his shirt and traces circles in his stomach because if he just closes his eyes and pretends as hard as he can, he can feel the cold hard smooth granite and he likes it, he likes it because stone doesn't feel, it's **felt**.


End file.
